City Of Lights
by Bluejay141519
Summary: Jamie just wanted to stay home and sleep. His parents agreed for once. It went downhill from there. Young Reagans! More details inside, Jamie!whump.


**This story takes place when Jamie was still a teen so: Mary is alive as well as Joe. Jamie is about 15, Jo is graduated from the police academy, Danny is just a Detective, Linda isn't in the picture, Frank is not the police commissioner but is a Sargent because that's what I thought came before commissioner.**

 **fun stuff.**

 ** _I want to give special credit to KittykatMC, who's fic, "The Break-In", directly inspired this one. Please be sure to look her up and give her story a read and review._**

 **For cutiesonthehorizon. Merry Christmas guy. Sorry about the lame ending.***

* * *

"Hey, pestilence, you alive in there?"

A soft moan is the only response Danny Reagan gets as he pokes at the mound of blankets that occupies the living room sofa - and, interestingly enough, covers one very sick younger sibling.

"Mom wants to take your temperature before we leave, so you're going to have to brave the outside world for a few seconds." This time he doesn't even get a sound in reply, so the older brother sighs and gives an eye roll, walking back into the dinning room where Jo is busy fixing his tie. It's a Saturday night in December, and the annual charity ball for the NYPD is being held. Where normally all of the family would attend the event, Jamie caught a fever the morning before, and it has steadily climbed then dropped, then climbed again, fluctuating over the hours leaving the teen exhausted, in pain, and in no way capable of being publicly presentable, even if for a few hours.

Joe smirks at his brother as he walks into the dining room adjacent the living room.

"Pestilence huh?" Danny shrugs.

"I thought it'd get a rise out of him."

"Did it?"

"I think he might have gotten close to breaching consciousness, but that didn't last long."

A long sigh is heard from the stairs behind them, and Erin waltzes in, hair done up in a mass of curls and a red ball gown fit to the full vest and tuxedo combo all the men were wearing.

"Please Danny for the love of god, would you do something with your hair?" Danny and Joe exchange a glance before innocently running a hand over their scalps, making what was semi neat look more messy. Erin sighs again.

"Did you take his temperature?" She asks, knowing full well if the both of them were chit-chatting in the dining room then they clearly haven't.

"Nope." Danny says, popping the 'p'.

"Yeah, Danny's bedside manner consists purely of insults, tough love, and more insults." Joe looks to his sister. "He called him pestilence, and i guess our little plague monster moved briefly, so, I mean, he's not dead."

"Neanderthals," She mutters. "Where's the thermometer?" Joe just raises an eyebrow at her, then flicks the small device across the table with a smirk. "Get in the car!" She yells, walking towards the living room once more.

It's silent for a split second, both men looking incredulously at the door way their bossy little sister just disappeared through. Then they look at each other, burst out laughing, and make their way to the door.

Meanwhile, Erin is having a little more luck getting her racoon eyed brother to let the slim metal temperature reading part of the thermometer under his tongue. The poor kid nearly falls asleep while its reading, but Erin nudges him awake with a soft murmur of comfort and then lets him resettle himself as it beeps. She reads the numbers with a sigh, carefully standing up from where she was crouched besides the comfy grey couch.

Heels click on the stairs next to the room, and Erin quietly walks out to meet her mother.

"How's he doing?" Mary asks in a hushed tone, and the only other female of the house simply shows her the thermometer. The mother of four sighs, shoulders slumping under her dress coat.

"Alright, well he's definitely not going. Tell your father I'll met him in the car - and get out there to make sure the boys haven't ticked off the driver again."

"Sure Mom." Erin smiles slightly at the older woman's grumble, then leaves to join her family outside after telling her father, who'd just made his way down the stairs, what was going on. Frank takes the moment of quiet in the house to peek in on his youngest. Mary had been worried from the second she discovered her little boy had a fever (just like she always was when Jamie was sick, because unlike his siblings, when Jamie got sick, he tended to go the extra mile and more than once ended up in the hospital as a child). He watched with a fond smile on his face as his beloved wife ran a hand through the dark mop of curls that poked out from a mound of two or three comforters. Some words were passed back and forth, then with a kiss to Jamies forehead Mary stood, fixing the blankets a little and walking towards her husband who stepped out of the doorway to let her pass.

"He'll be fine sweetheart." He says, walking hand in hand with her to the door.

"I know." She sighs, fixing her coat and slipping on her gloves before stepping out into the frigid air. "I know that Frank, I just...I don't like the thought of leaving him alone. Who knows what could happen?"

"Jamie's fifteen honey. We don't exactly live in a bad neighborhood, and it's only for a few hours. He can take care of himself. I'm sure he'll be fine."

….

Jamie felt like he'd been run over. By a tractor trailer. That then stopped, shifted into reverse, and backed over him, just to rev the engine and hit him again. Everything _hurt._ His head pounded, he couldn't get comfortable, and his muscles ached in random intervals.

And apparently it had been _days_. Maybe. He can't remember if it had been Thursday or Friday morning that he almost passed out on the stairs, but it was somehow Saturday night and everyone was all dressed up and excited to go (its the one mandatory party of the year that the whole family enjoys - the girls because they get to dress up nice and catch up on gossip, the boys because all the other boys are there, and they get to listen to the hilarious stories of the veteran officers).

Everyone except Jamie, who only wanted to sleep just a tad more than he wanted to take a hot shower. He literally hadn't moved from the couch since his mother planted him there, and the marathon of MythBusters that happened to be showing on Discovery was a perfect way to spend the five minutes he managed to stay awake every now and then.

See, it wasn't that he couldn't sleep, it's just that sleep never seemed to do anything for him and it was always restless and he couldn't get comfortable and it hurt to breath sometimes. Also, his poor head felt like it was just filled with water; too heavy for his neck to support. But he was always tired and the fever reducer only ever seemed to give him a few short hours of reprieve.

Which is why he was surprised to peel his eyes open to a dark house, no sound except for the hum of the kitchen refrigerator while he only felt slightly overheated, instead of the 'trapped inside a four hundred degree oven' that had been his norm the last few days. Flopping a hand out to the small corner table the was at the edge of the couch, he managed to click on his phone. A tiny amount of pride flickered through him that it only took two minutes to correctly process the time displayed there.

Seven-oh-three, the display told him as he squinted blearily up at it. Sighing he stretched, then slipped out from under the warm cocoon of blankets to pad semi-unsteadily to the kitchen for a drink. He knew he should probably take his temperature to see if he needed more meds, but he had no idea where the thermometer was and the idea of looking for it was just not an option.

His eyelids felt less heavy as he slowly sipped cool water from a glass, one arm braced against the kitchen sink and bare toes poking out from the ends of too large pajama pants. He was enjoying the quiet, and just wondering if he would freak everyone out to much if he slept upstairs in his bed instead of the couch, when he heard the front door unlock.

Blearily, he pondered the idea of it being his siblings, as they usually left the party early, his parents returning around midnight. They might have been sent home by their mom to make sure Jamie wasn't suddenly dying. The youngest let out a snort of amusement at the idea, finishing his water with a small smirk on his face.

In hindsight, that was probably his first mistake.

See, he didn't realize anything was wrong at first. He didn't find it odd that the person entering the house didn't turn any lights on, or that it was only one pair of footsteps that crept nearly silent across the hardwood floor. He didn't realize it would have been downright wrong that his siblings weren't bickering, and Danny and Jo would have definitely been busting Erin about something.

His exhausted body didn't put all this together until he put his glass in the sink and turned around to a dark figure haunting the doorway.

A scream burst from Jamie's throat in surprised terror, and the man lunged, hands outstretched. The teen's tired, aching body gave a burst of feeble adrenaline and he sidestepped just before the man could grab him. His luck stopped there though, because as he ran to the left - a crazed attempt to get the the front door and maybe get outside - the intruder dove forward, and caught one of Jamie's legs, sending him stumbling at top speed into the hardwood kitchen table, where his unbalanced body ricocheted to the floor.

Scrambling to get away from the man, footsteps pounding behind him said he had no chance. Before he could really get farther than his hands and knees, a hand wound into his hair and yanked him upright. He yelped, feet scrambling for purchase as the cruel grip sent pain cascading across his scalp. The next instant he was pulled backwards, then the man used his hold to slam Jamie's head against the corner of the table, releasing his hair to let Jamie crumple to the floor.

Blood instantly flowed from the gash in his forehead, but Jamie barely felt the pain through the haze he was trapped in, body now mostly limp on the floor. He moaned, tongue heavy as rough hands flipped him over. Slowly dragging his eyelids open, he caught a pair of cruel, malevolent eyes glaring down at him as the hard muscled man straddled his lanky frame.

Fear pulsed in his veins and he sucked in a breath to scream again, to yell out for help, but the man was faster this time and wrapped a hand around his throat, cutting off the plea before it could make it past his lips.

Jamie struggled feebly, mind too clouded with injury and illness to be able to really try to defend himself. The red bandana that had covered the man's nose was pulled down to reveal the rest of his face; patchy beard, scar across his chin, and a feral grin created by chapped lips and stained teeth.

"You really should've kept quiet kid." he growled, using his free hand to reach behind him and pull out a damp cloth, pressing it tightly to Jamie's face and covering his nose and mouth. As he did so he released his hold on the teens throat, and on instinct, Jamie sucked in air through the cloth. A sickly sweet smell invaded his lungs, and his eyes glazed over almost instantly. Another breath had him losing all focus, and a few moments later his eyes fluttered shut, body now oblivious to the danger he was in.

….

"Alright, you three that's enough." A stern but amused voice cut through the chatter that was loudly emanating from the three young adults still seated comfortably at the Reagan's table. The three siblings looked up, just barely hiding their laughter from their grandfather, who had finally managed to pull away from his own friends to give his grandchildren the message that they could leave. "It's after eight, you ought to go home."

"Pop, it's like eight-oh-two. We aren't exactly tired." Joe protests, grinning as he thought of when they were kids and first went to the ball, they'd be passed out in their seats before seven thirty. "We aren't seven anymore."

"No, but there is a fifteen year old brother of yours that's been sick for two days and who's home alone right now that you ought to check on." the Police Commissioner scolds, looking pointedly at Danny who looks like he's trying really hard not to say something that will surely get him in trouble.

"If it makes you feel better." Erin speaks haughtily, sitting relaxed in her chair with the air of satisfaction. "I get to stay until Mom and Dad leave, because the DA isn't here yet and they want me to meet him."

As expected, both boys heads whip around to glare at their sister who's got the biggest shit eating grin on her face.

"Wonderful. Now, chop-chop. I don't want you to make the driver hold up traffic any longer than he has to." And with that the PC is whisked away by one of his men, and the two older brothers are left to stare shocked at one another.

"How the hell are we twenty three and twenty five but _still_ get sent home before nine?" Jo asks rhetorically, gathering his jacket as Danny just shakes his head and does the same.

"Well, that order came straight from mom, and if you want to go deny her, you be my guest. I'll be sure to send flowers at your funeral."

"Very funny." Joe grumbles, following Danny to the elevator and checking his phone. A tiny inkling of relief when there's no messages from Jamie.

"The kids probably asleep anyway." Joe says, tucking his hands back into his pockets and standing stoically next to his brother as the elevator does close with a clink.

…

Jamie comes to with a burst of nausea and a moan. And man, if he thought his head was pounding before, this is like unlocking the boss level of a video game: puts all the other hardships into perspective.

His neck aches, and his head lolls as he struggles to come back to his senses. It seems the fog that is permeating his thoughts won't be going away anytime soon, so it takes a while (how long, he isn't sure) for him to remember what's going on.

He's tied to a chair from the kitchen, he knows because they're the only wooden chairs in the house that have arms, of which his wrists are tied to. There's a piece of duct tape across his mouth, and his feet are bound to the the legs of the chair.

Bonus points, everything hurts again and he feels _way_ too hot, hot enough that he might think this is all one huge delirium, if it weren't for the pain on his wrists where the skin was getting rubbed raw. Even the slightest movement seemed to set them burning, but he struggled against them nonetheless, working for some tiny hope that he might find some give.

No luck. The effort only leaves him even more exhausted, body slumping back into his prison with a small whimper. Idly he wonders if the man is still in the house, or if he was out long enough that he left. He strains his ears for a few moments, and relaxes slowly, suspicious when he hears nothing.

It's absurd how much his fear abates when he thinks he's alone. Maybe it's the fever, or his head injury, but the lack of panic or apprehension of any kind is enough to surprise even himself. But then, what's there to be afraid of? The man left, so it's only a matter of time before his siblings come home and find him zip-tied to a chair, in which case the biggest issue will be calming Danny and Jo down so they don't go out after the guy. They probably won't find him, even with whatever description of his face Jamie can give them-

Jamie jerks hard in the chair, startled out of his half-conscious state with the understanding that he _intentionally_ pulled down his mask. Jamie's seen his face, in horrid detail, and now he's probably going to kill him before he leaves the house. There's no way he'd leave the youngest Reagan alive, not if he had any sense.

An overwhelming wave of terror crashes over Jamie as he realizes his impending doom, making his breath quicken with his pulse, to the point he's nearly hyperventilating behind his gag. He tosses his head back against the chair, tugging hard on the restraints and letting out a groan of frustration and fear when they prove to hold steady.

Panting from his effort, Jamie struggles to think through the haze in his brain. He still hasn't heard anything. So maybe the guy...maybe he left. Yeah. Maybe he was gonna kill him, then got a conscience. Or better yet, maybe he saw one of the many pictures his mom hangs up and realized whose house he broke into.

It occurs to him that he hasn't actually opened his eyes yet.

The action, of course, is a struggle, and it takes way longer than it should to even being to attempt it. His eyelids feel sticky and heavy, and so its...taxing to focus long enough to make them flutter open. With his head still resting on the back on the chair, all he can manage for a few minutes is a blank, unfocused stare up at the ceiling. His muscles feel like jello, and he knows that if he tries to move to look around, he probably won't be able to keep his head upright.

Nevertheless, Jamie tries, and sure enough he just ends up letting his chin meet his chest after a few seconds of holding a semi straight gaze to the kitchen in front of him.

Mind you, given what he sees, he wishes he had just stayed unconscious.

The man definitely stayed. And he most certainly aims to kill him before leaving. The tall, stocky shape sitting in a chair across from him with a gun resting in his lap is a pretty good indication of that. Why he's waited for Jamie to regain consciousness, is a better question.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." The gravelly voice holds no emotion in it, making Jamie's skin run cold as he struggles to stay conscious. "Glad you made it back to the land of the living."

There's a pause. Jamie wonders if he threw up into the gag, if he'd drown before the man would put a bullet in him.

"Although, to be honest with you kid, you won't be staying here long."

He stands up, pulling back the hammer of his gun as he does. Jamie manages to glare at the man while starting to struggle feebly against his bonds once more. His head is pounding with his rapid heart beat, making his vision focus and blur at random intervals while his whole body starts to tremble. To his left he gets a glance of the time shown on the oven display screen, and whatever minute amount of hope he held that his siblings would come home to save him is crushed under the number eight forty five. He's fifteen, and he stays up much later than that. His brothers will still be at the party, with his family having a good time.

"Now, I know what you're wondering."

He's going to die.

"It's the same thing everyone does, the ones who are coherent enough to do more than babble for their life."

He's going to die, tied to a chair in his own kitchen.

"Why wait till you wake up to kill you? Why stick around that long and risk being walked in on?"

He wonder's who'll find him. Who will be the most scarred. He knows everyone will see him, and his terror at his current situation is only slightly offset by the seeping dread he feels for what will be the next. He doesn't want his family to see him like... _that_ …

The man bends down and cups a gloved hand under Jamie's chin. The gun is still lowered, but Jamie, despite all his current list of ailments, can comprehend how close he is to dieing. He's shaking, desperately gasping in air through his nose as the man lifts his head so they are eye level with each other when he speaks.

"See I like to _watch_." he whispers. "I enjoy watching your eyes. I like to see the bravado breakdown, to see the anger give way to terror. I like watching the hope die as you realize you aren't getting out of this."

' _Oh god_ ,' Jamie thinks, one clear thought in a fog of panic and fear. ' _Oh god oh god oh god I'm going to die oh my_ god _oh my god Dad I'm so sorry please-'_

"So with that said…" The man practically purrs, and the gun is raised up to young Jamie's head, silver metal glinting in the moonlet let in through the window.

' _-just keep everyone safe, please, Danny and Jo, they'll take this the hardest just look after them please, please-'_

Jamie feels the muzzle of the gun press up against his forehead.

' _I love you guys.'_

He sends the last thought into the night, and lets his eyes slip closed.

….

The shot never comes. Not that he would be there to hear it if it did, and considering that fact, Jamie thinks he should be dead. Or he should, at least, know that he died. Shouldn't it peaceful or something? Shouldn't he just wake up and know?

If he's dead, why is he still so terrified?

And why is it so loud?

There's yelling - a lot of yelling - and somewhere, distantly, he thinks he hears a gunshot. The feeling of a gun to his head is gone, as is the cruel hand gripping his chin. Without the support, his neck has set his head to be resting on his chest once more.

Somebody's breathing heavily, and it's not him. If anything, Jamie feels like he's not breathing at all, and given he can't seem to feel _anything_ right now, he supposes that's a possibility.

"Jamie?" A voice calls softly, fear plain in the gentle tones. He should recognize that voice, he feels. He should know who's voice that is, because it's familiar and kind and warm, and not at all like the voice from before, the one that was strange and cold and that made the hair on his neck stand up.

The heavy breathing stops, and Jamie wonders if the person left. Then there's a pressure on his neck, and after a moment there's a harsh 'whoosh' of breath being let out. He feels the warm air on his face in amazing clarity, given that he still can't figure out if he's dead, and this is what the after life is like, or if this is all real, and for some reason the man didn't kill him and that person in front of him is his brother Joe.

He doesn't know for sure, since he's barely holding on to consciousness so his eyes most certainly aren't open, but that voice sure sounds like his closest sibling. In fact, the forehead pressed against his and the hand cupping his neck wear the same cologne that he does, and only Joe can copy his mother in the art of whispering silent prays that no one can really make out but can still hear you saying.

The skin to skin contact disappears completely for a second, then two hands, warm and slightly calloused, slip around his neck. They gently lift his head, the pads of their thumbs gently sliding back and forth across the skin of his face.

"Jamie-" His voice cuts off with a restrained sob, and Jamie feels like he's floating, drifting around and falling at the same time, and the only point of contact with the real world is those hands.

' _Please don't go._ ' he pleads, like his thoughts will somehow be broadcasted through the room and his savor will hear them. ' _Please stay here. Just for a little bit, just until...until I can-'_

"Kid." This time the voice is stronger, more firm. "Hey, kid, can you hear me? Open your eyes Jamie." His words are accompanied with a few soft pats to his face, but Jamie is still floating, and all the hits do is send him spinning around in circle in the dark abyss he's found himself locked in. Nothing makes sense, not really, and he can't think past the idea that he should be dead, was in fact about as prepared as he could get to die, was just about accepting the notion, and now suddenly he wasn't in danger anymore. He supposes he should be thankful, because instead of Joe finding his body, he's finding his little brother, still mostly intact. A gunshot to the head is anything but pretty, and he can imagine how traumatized his brothers would be, walking in to see him with a hole in his head and spatter on the walls-

It's this image, of all things, that seem to snap his body into action. Adrenaline floods his system and Jamie jerks hard, eyes snapping open to Joe's worried face. It all comes rushing against him - the pain in his wrists, the sledgehammer banging away in his skull combining with the aftereffects of whatever drug was used against him and his body natural responses to extreme stress. His lungs recognize a lack of air, making him inhale rapidly, which only serves to make his head spin more. Rapidly descending back into confusion, Jamie finds himself aware of every minute detail, hypersensitive, overwhelmed, and scared.

"Woah woah, hey, hey its okay Jamie, it's okay. He's gone, it's okay." Joe speaks softly, all soothing and careful, like one would to a spooked animal. Jamie vehemently shakes his head, moaning as he starts to shiver again, body crying out with a mix of exhaustion and self preservation instinct that recognizes he's still tied to a chair, in no position to defend himself.

"Alright hold on, hold on a sec, I'm gonna take the tape off so you can breathe easier okay, hold on." Fingers touch his face and Jamie squeezes his eyes shut, snapping his head back. But still strapped to the chair as he was, there wasn't much for him to do except angle his head to be as far away from the touch as possible.

"Shh, shh, it's okay Jamie, it's okay." Soft tones flutter past his ears as the tape is peeled from his mouth.

It's seems once the gag is gone, it becomes impossible to stop the emotion from welling up in his chest. He gasps through his mouth a few times before the first cry bursts past his lips, barely half a breath. It quickly develops to full out sobs, and he's left crying and hurting as his brother works fervently to cut the thick plastic ties holding him to the chair.

"It's okay, it's okay Jamie, I almost got it I- there!" With the last exclamation Joe lunges forward, bundling his baby brother into his arms, and pulling him to the floor to be cradled in his lap, knife thrown to the floor forgotten. "Oh my god Jamie." Joe whispers into Jamie's hair as the younger Reagan sobs into his brothers chest, trembling from head to toe, too weak to do more than squirm in his the embrace. His mind clouded, it's near impossible for the teen to understand he's safe anymore, but with his body rapidly descending into shock, and whatever energy he had was being rapidly depleted as it was split between staying awake, breathing between his sobs, and fighting the hands holding him.

"Shh, Jamie, its okay, it's okay…" Joe coos, gently rocking back and forth, tense with fear.

Nothing had been like walking in the house behind Danny, laughing about some joke only to walk into the kitchen to see some maniac with a gun pressed snug to his little brother's temple. Nothing had been more _terrifying_ , than having to press two fingers to Jamie's freezing cold skin just to make sure he wasn't dead.

Joe would have nightmares about this for a long time.

Footsteps pound on the brick work outside the house, and Joe goes rigid, rapidly working through multiple plans to defend himself and his brother when the oldest of the siblings comes bursting through the front door, wild eyed and frantic, not stopping for a second as he takes the distance between the door and his brothers in two strides.

"Ambulance is on its way, but I couldn't follow the son of a bitch. I put it out over the radio though, so they'll be looking for him." The marine breathes out the words in one massive sentence, eyes sliding downward to look at his shaking mess of a little brother. "Bastard." He hisses, taking in the blood that covers the right side of Jamie's face. "How is he?"

Joe shakes his head, lips pursed together, face grim. "I think he's going in shock, and he hasn't said a word to me since I found him."

Danny's eyes darken. "Alright, lay him down, keep him calm. I'll get a blanket."

"Danny, hold on a sec-" The more experienced police officer doesn't bother slowing down at first, still in the mindset of protection, not comfort.

"Joe you'll be fine just-"

"Damn it Danny, would you wait a second!" The sharp bark of his younger brother stops him short at entrance to the living room. He turns around incredulously, but the shock fades to guilt when he sees his youngest sibling - sees Jamie, the baby of the family, his little brother that he can never seem to connect with - reaching out from him, a cry of desperation on his lips and panic on his face.

" _No_!" He sobs, clearly delusional. " _Please don't leave, you can't he- he's still out there!_ "

Danny's back at his brothers side in less than a second, getting to his knees to let Jamie grab his jacket with outstretched hands.

"Hey, hey kid it's okay, I'm right here." He glances up at Joe, the rare moment of emotion showing on his face. "We're right here okay, you're safe." His words do little to calm young Jamie, if anything they agitate him more. It's only the feeling of his brothers jacket, scrunched in his hands that assure him his brother's really there, and so everytime Danny tries to do _anything_ , Jamie falls in a panic, and eventually Danny stops trying to get up.

The first responders find them where they sit, in the back corner of a moderate kitchen, two brothers wrapped protectively around the littlest Reagan.

"Yeah Dad, we...no, I don't know. They said they were just trying to stabilize him. No I-...maybe. We didn't see...you'd have to talk to Danny, he went after him. Yeah he- yeah. Dad they said he was gonna be okay he was just in shock and- yeah dad I was there I know it can be serious!"

"...sorry. No, I...I know. Saint Vincents, yeah. We both gave our statements already. Okay. Okay. Yes. I love you. Bye Dad."

Joe had just managed to stop Danny from getting kicked out of the hospital for harassing the nurses when their mother walked in.

Better: she _stormed_ in, and if all Danny managed to was piss off the nurses, Mary had them scared.

None of the men knew what she said, but it ended with an ice cold, steely voice saying " _I want to see my son."_ that echoes across the dead quiet waiting room.

They get to see him. His mother and sister instantly plant themselves in chairs on one side of the bed, Erin already crying in her mom's shoulder. For once, her brothers don't tease her on the show of emotion. Not when Jamie is lying in a hospital bed, as pale as the sheets covering him, wires and tubes crisscrossing his body. A bandage is stuck carefully on the cut on his temple, but it does little to cover the large blue discoloration that's slowly spreading across the side of his face. He's unconscious - the nurse told them he was sleeping off a mild sedative. Concussion, severe shock, and a what was a high fever all combined to create the "difficulty maintaining coherency" (as the nurse dubbed it) Jamie experienced at the house.

The permission to visit him doesn't matter much to Joe however, as he can barely stand in the pristine white and blue room. Not with his brother lying like that, small circular bruise on the left side of his temple from where the gun was pressed into his forehead. Instead, he sits in the waiting room, staring at his hands, picking off little specks of dried blood from Jamie's head wound.

He could have died. He _should_ have died. If he and Danny were even a second later, if they'd happened to have a red light instead of a green...they wouldn't have walked home to see a gun to Jamie's head, they would have seen the man pulling the trigger, or worse, they just would have found...just…

A shiver runs through Joe, and he closes his eyes as he visualizes what might have been. A weight settles into the chair next to him and a warm hand wraps around his wrists. Only then does he realize they're shaking.

"It wasn't your fault Joe."

"I know." He says, opening his eyes and leaning back into the chair to stare at the ceiling. "But you didn't see him Dad. He was so scared, and he didn't even recognize me and I...I had no idea what to do."

"You did what you thought was right, and in that moment, it was wasn't just the best thing for him, it was the best thing for you as well."

"I- what?" Joe looks at his father, surprise coloring his face.

"You did what may not have been correct...medically, but was the best option to both calm him down, and calm down yourself. You may not have been the one tied to a chair with a gun to your head, but Joe, this was traumatic for you too. For...for all of us."

Joe thinks back to the phone call he had to make, while Danny was chomping at the bit for any little bit of information about Jamie. He remembers how the slight tremor in his father voice had seemed to reverberate across the phone, and sent fear down his spine. His father was like his grandfather - serious and unwavering in crisis. To hear him be... _not normal_ was scary to say to the least.

"Yeah." Joe mutters. "I think we're all going to have nightmares about this for a while."

His father hums in agreement, and Joe thinks back to the rest of his family gathered protectively in his little brothers room.

' _Yeah_." He thinks. " _We'll be alright_."

 **-OPTIONAL IN CASE PEOPLE WANT THIS CONTINUED, THIS IS THE CLIFF HANGER-**

Then the detective walked in, looking grim as all hell, and without preamble said:

"Sir. We've identified your sons attacker." He hands a thick folder to the police sergeant.

"You need to see this."

* * *

 **Ta-da! my first dive in blue bloods, and yes, i can apologize for the horribleness of my writing, if any of you know me, i am a first person writer. hard core first person. My third is shit, but in order to participate in the exchange i had to do third.**

 **Anyway, leave me a review telling me what you think. And if you want it continued. Toodles!**


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